was present at the performance from beginning to end。〃
FIFTH EVENING
〃Yesterday；〃 began the Moon； 〃I looked down upon the turmoil of
Paris。 My eye penetrated into an apartment of the Louvre。 An old
grandmother； poorly clad… she belonged to the working class… was
following one of the under…servants into the great empty
throne…room； for this was the apartment she wanted to see… that she
was resolved to see； it had cost her many a little sacrifice； and many
a coaxing word； to penetrate thus far。 She folded her thin hands；
and looked round with an air of reverence； as if she had been in a
church。
〃'Here it was！' she said； 'here！' and she approached the throne；
from which hung the rich velvet fringed with gold lace。 'There；' she
exclaimed； 'there！' and she knelt and kissed the purple carpet。 I
think she was actually weeping。
〃'But it was not this very velvet！' observed the footman； and a
smile played about his mouth。 'True； but it was this very place；'
replied the woman； 'and it must have looked just like this。 'It looked
so； and yet it did not；' observed the man： 'the windows were beaten
in； and the doors were off their hinges； and there was blood upon
the floor。' 'But for all that you can say； my grandson died upon the
throne of France。 Died！' mournfully repeated the old woman。 I do not
think another word was spoken； and they soon quitted the hall。 The
evening twilight faded and my light shone doubly vivid upon the rich
velvet that covered the throne of France。
〃Now who do you think this poor woman was？ Listen； I will tell you
a story。
〃It happened； in the Revolution of July； on the evening of the
most brilliantly victorious day； when every house was a fortress；
every window a breastwork。 The people stormed the Tuileries。 Even
women and children were to be found among the combatants。 They
penetrated into the apartments and halls of the palace。 A poor
half…grown boy in a ragged blouse fought among the older insurgents。
Mortally wounded with several bayonet thrusts； he sank down。 This
happened in the throne…room。 They laid the bleeding youth upon the
throne of France； wrapped the velvet around his wounds； and his
blood streamed forth upon the imperial purple。 There was a picture！
The splendid hall； the fighting groups！ A torn flag upon the ground；
the tricolor was waving above the bayonets； and on the throne lay
the poor lad with the pale glorified countenance； his eyes turned
towards the sky； his limbs writhing in the death agony； his breast
bare； and his poor tattered clothing half hidden by the rich velvet
embroidered with silver lilies。 At the boy's cradle a prophecy had
been spoken： 'He will die on the throne of France！' The mother's heart
dreamt of a second Napoleon。
〃My beams have kissed the wreath of immortelles on his grave；
and this night they kissed the forehead of the old grandame； while
in a dream the picture floated before her which thou mayest draw…
the poor boy on the throne of France。〃
SIXTH EVENING
〃I've been in Upsala；〃 said the Moon： 〃I looked down upon the
great plain covered with coarse grass； and upon the barren fields。 I
mirrored my face in the Tyris river； while the steamboat drove the
fish into the rushes。 Beneath me floated the waves； throwing long
shadows on the so…called graves of Odin； Thor； and Friga。 In the
scanty turf that covers the hill…side names have been cut。 There is no
monument here； no memorial on which the traveller can have his name
carved； no rocky wall on whose surface he can get it painted； so
visitors have the turf cut away for that purpose。 The naked earth
peers through in the form of great letters and names； these form a
network over the whole hill。 Here is an immortality； which lasts
till the fresh turf grows！
〃Up on the hill stood a man； a poet。 He emptied the mead horn with
the broad silver rim； and murmured a name。 He begged the winds not
to betray him； but I heard the name。 I knew it。 A count's coronet
sparkles above it； and therefore he did not speak it out。 I smiled；
for I knew that a poet's crown adorns his own name。 The nobility of
Eleanora d'Este is attached to the name of Tasso。 And I also know
where the Rose of Beauty blooms！〃
Thus spake the Moon； and a cloud came between us。 May no cloud
separate the poet from the rose！
SEVENTH EVENING
〃Along the margin of the shore stretches a forest of firs and
beeches； and fresh and fragrant is this wood； hundreds of nightingales
visit it every spring。 Close beside it is the sea； the ever…changing
sea； and between the two is placed the broad high…road。 One carriage
after another rolls over it； but I did not follow them； for my eye
loves best to rest upon one point。 A Hun's Grave lies there； and the
sloe and blackthorn grow luxuriantly among the stones。 Here is true
poetry in nature。
〃And how do you think men appreciate this poetry？ I will tell
you what I heard there last evening and during the night。
〃First； two rich landed proprietors came driving by。 'Those are
glorious trees！' said the first。 'Certainly； there are ten loads of
firewood in each；' observed the other： 'it will be a hard winter；
and last year we got fourteen dollars a load'… and they were gone。
'The road here is wretched；' observed another man who drove past。
'That's the fault of those horrible trees；' replied his neighbour；
'there is no free current of air； the wind can only come from the
sea'… and they were gone。 The stage coach went rattling past。 All
the passengers were asleep at this beautiful spot。 The postillion blew
his horn； but he only thought； 'I can play capitally。 It sounds well
here。 I wonder if those in there like it？'… and the stage coach
vanished。 Then two young fellows came gallopping up on horseback。
There's youth and spirit in the blood here！ thought I； and； indeed；
they looked with a smile at the moss…grown hill and thick forest。 'I
should not dislike a walk here with the miller's Christine；' said one…
and they flew past。
〃The flowers scented the air； every breath of air was hushed； it
seemed as if the sea were a part of the sky that stretched above the
deep valley。 A carriage rolled by。 Six people were sitting in it。 Four
of them were asleep； the fifth was thinking of his new summer coat；
which would suit him admirably； the sixth turned to the coachman and
asked him if there were anything remarkable connected with yonder heap
of stones。 'No；' replied the coachman； 'it's only a heap of stones；
but the trees are remarkable。' 'How so？' 'Why I'll tell you how they
are very remarkable。 You see； in winter； when the snow lies very deep；
and has hidden the whole road so that nothing is to be seen； those
trees serve me for a landmark。 I steer by them； so as not to drive
into the sea； and you see that is why the trees are remarkable。'
〃Now came a painter。 He spoke not a word； but his eyes sparkled。
He began to whistle。 At this the nightingales sang louder than ever。
'Hold your tongues！' he cried testily； and he made accurate notes of
all the colours and transitions… blue； and lilac； and dark brown。
'That will make a beautiful picture；' he said。 He took it in just as a
mirror takes in a view； and as he worked he whistled a march of
Rossini。 And last of all came a poor girl。 She laid aside the burden
she carried； and sat down to rest upon the Hun's Grave。 Her pale
handsome face was bent in a listening attitude towards the forest。 Her
eyes brightened； she gazed earnestly at the sea and the sky； her hands
were folded； and I think she prayed； 'Our Father。' She herself could
not understand the feeling that swept through her； but I know that
this minute； and the beautiful natural scene； will live within her
memory for years； far more vividly and more truly than the painter
could portray it with his colours on paper。 My rays followed her
till the morning dawn kissed her brow。〃
EIGHTH EVENING
Heavy clouds obscured the sky； and the Moon did not make his
appearance at all。 I stood in my little room； more lonely than ever；
and looked up at the sky where he ought to have shown himself。 My
thoughts flew far away； up to my great friend； who every evening
told me such pretty tales； and showed me pictures。 Yes； he has had
an experience indeed。 He glided over the waters of the Deluge； and
smiled on Noah's ark just as he lately glanced down upon me； and
brought comfort and promise of a new world that was to spring forth
from the old。 When the Children of Israel sat weeping by the waters of
Babylon； he glanced mournfully upon the willows where hung the
silent harps。 When Romeo climbed the balcony； and the promise of
true love fluttered like a cherub toward heaven； the round Moon
hung； half hidden among the dark cypresses； in the lucid air。 He saw
the captive giant at St。 Helena； looking from the lonely rock across
the wide ocean； while great thoughts swept through his soul。 Ah！
what tales the Moon can tell。 Human life is like a story to him。
To…night I shall not see thee again； old friend。 Tonight I can draw no
picture of the memories of thy visit。 And； as I looked dreamily
towards the clouds； the sky became bright。 There was a glancing light；
and a beam from the Moon fell upon me。 It vanished again； and dark
clouds flew past： but still it was a greeting； a friendly good…night
offered to me by the Moon。
NINTH EVENING
The air was clear again。 Several evenings had passed； and the Moon
was in the first quarter。 Again he gave me an outline for a sketch。
Listen to what he told me。
〃I have followed the polar bird and the swimming whale to the
eastern coast of Greenland。 Gaunt ice…covered rocks and dark clouds
hung over a valley； where dwarf willows and barberry bushes stood
clothed in green。 The blooming lychnis exhaled sweet odours。 My
light was faint； my face pale as the water lily that； torn from its
stem； has been drifting for weeks with the tide。 The crown…shaped
Northern Light